Starstruck
by pagerunner
Summary: Whenever anything even remotely interesting happens in your castle, the servants, Maker help you, are going to talk. A follow-up to Just Desserts, from the perspective of the maid who caught Alistair and his queen in the act...


_intro from __**gabriel_chaos**__, who prompted this fic:_

_Sariale was flushed pink as she fled down the hall, mind all a-flutter, thoughts scattered away, driven in all directions by what she had just seen._

_Oh, she couldn't wipe that image from her mind. The king. Naked. His shoulders so wide and his body built as heroically as an ancient's empire's statue, those abs, those legs and... and... that. Yes, THAT. It deserved immortalizing in capital letters. Inscriptions. Plaques. Really racy poetry._

_And... and... she would likely never be able to look at him straight without thinking of that again!_

_She felt herself flush furiously red again as she ducked into the servant's quarters. Oh she had such gossip to share!_

_...  
_

Predictably, though, it took a while of everyone _else's_ nattering and gossip before she even got that far, and _that_ began as soon as the door to the servants' working room swung shut.

"Well," Miran said, hands on her hips. The elder elven woman shepherded the tangle of maids and servants that kept the palace running, and due to this perpetual game of logistics, she bore a skeptical, harried expression at nearly all hours of the day, this one not excepted. "_You_ certainly look like the cat that got the cream. One delivery to the king's chambers and she thinks she's his favored pet, my goodness…."

"She probably didn't even speak to him," Sophie said, acting, as she usually did, as if her status as the lone human in the room gave her superiority. She didn't even look up from her mending. "Just a glimpse, I'd bet, if that much."

"Oh, but what a glimpse," Sariale whispered. No one heard her.

"I was up there once." Little redhaired Valla snapped out the laundry she was folding, all brisk and proper for a moment before she dissolved into giggles. "Didn't even get past the door - I _heard_ them well enough, though. Gods, the way they carry on, it's a marvel they don't have a whole line of princes all waiting for the throne already."

"And the _way_ they do it, indeed," Sophie said, with a shudder. "They don't even have the decency to keep it to their chambers - it's disgraceful! I nearly walked in on them in the library, of all places. You'd think they'd have more respect."

"Must be the smell of all those leather bindings," said Valla, with a mischievous little smirk. Miran snapped a rag at her, catching her shoulder. Valla only snorted and kept at her business.

"Did you _see_ anything, though, Sophie?" Iva pressed, unexpectedly. She was the youngest of them, fresh from the Alienage, and normally she didn't say much, but Sariale supposed _this_ of all topics would get any woman's attention. As well it should. "You must have, if you knew enough to leave."

"Maker's breath, no! I heard them, and that was enough. Kept out of it like any respectable woman should."

"Or brainless, perhaps," Valla retorted. "Or _blind._ You must have looked a _little._"

Sophie actually turned pink. "Well, the Queen had already unfastened his shirt… I couldn't help but see that, but I wasn't about to stay and get in trouble…."

"Did you see his tattoo? I've heard he has one."

"Ridiculous suggestion," Miran sniffed. "No man of his station would."

Sariale almost got as far as correcting her, but Iva beat her to the punch: "I've heard it's true. I heard one of the guards say so - he saw him after sword practice. On his chest. Right shoulder?"

"Left," Sariale burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. "Like some kind of star pattern, and it looks _Dalish_, I couldn't believe it-"

Everyone dropped what they were doing - literally, in Valla's case - and stared. "What?" Valla demanded.

"My girl," Miran said, stalking forward toward Sariale, "what are you getting at?"

"I knocked," Sariale replied, a little breathlessly. "I got up there with the tray I was meant to deliver and I knocked. The king opened the door. Looked like he wasn't expecting it; I must have interrupted… but he just walked up and threw the door open and then he realized what he was doing, but it was too late, because he was _right there,_ and I saw… well… more than Sophie did, I should say..."

Valla's jaw dropped. "Are you saying -"

"No shirt at all?" Iva ventured.

"Naked as the day he was born," Sariale breathed.

"Oh, Maker's _mercy,_" nearly everyone said at once.

The questions tumbled frantically over each other then - _What did you see? What did he __**say**__?_ "What did he look like?" Iva said, and Sariale leaned against the wall, suddenly overwhelmed. All this attention, and her head still in a whirl…

"Oh," she said helplessly, not knowing where to start; her cheeks were getting red, she just knew it. "He's so _strong._ Those muscles… and so many scars, I don't know how he could have endured it, but they just make him look-" She cast about for a word. _Feral,_ she thought, with a deep, warm shudder. _Powerful. Magnificent._ "Invincible," she finished, and Iva actually let out a plaintive, longing sort of sigh.

"But you said you interrupted," Valla demanded. She'd gotten up from her table, her task entirely forgotten except for the smallclothes she was waving about like a flag. "Interrupted what? He must have been - without these - for a reason."

"Girl, be decent!" Miran exclaimed, but it was too late for that. Sariale felt a smile creep up on her, for oh, she'd clearly interrupted something interesting indeed.

"I'd say the queen had been busy," she said, feeling suddenly quite daring, "polishing the royal scepter. So to speak."

Iva actually squeaked. Valla's mouth went round. "He wasn't."

"Oh, he _was._"

She sat down with a thump. "Andraste's bloody knickers, I knew I should've brought that tray up there myself."

"Valla!" Miran exclaimed, but this time the girl ducked her superior's scolding hand.

"I can't believe you just walked _in_ on him if that's what was - didn't you _hear_ them?" Sophie demanded, once given the chance.

"They were being very quiet!"

"That would be a first," Sophie muttered.

"But he was - oh, _my._" Sariale paused, blushing harder. Now everyone was _really_ staring, hanging on every detail. She didn't blame them. The king of all Ferelden, and she'd seen him in the midst of… that… with the queen… who wasn't dressed at all either, dear Maker… and she'd escaped with her head still attached? Seemed unlikely even to her, but….

"He actually _apologized,_" she said, realizing how sweet it had been, that he'd acted so charmingly sheepish about his… state of affairs. "And believe me, he has _nothing_ to apologize for."

There was a quiet, scandalized-but-appreciative gasp from someone, but no one looked like they wanted to admit to it. Until, of course, Valla spoke up. "Just how big, then-"

That was as far as she got before Miran simply grabbed her by the ear and marched her off behind the nearest supply shelf. Valla protested all the way. Sariale, trying not to laugh, was left to gesture the answer - she saw Valla trying to squint between the sewing baskets to see it for herself - making even Sophie's eyes go round and Iva's jaw comically drop.

"Blessed Maker, I don't even know what I'd do with that much man," Sophie said in unexpected reverie.

"Oh, I could think of a few things," Valla's voice echoed from the distant corner. There was an exasperated sound from Miran, and then a thump. "Ow."

"You are so lucky," Iva sighed, and then caught herself, looking embarrassed. "I mean, that he let you go without getting you in trouble…."

"She _could_ just be making it up, you know," Sophie said - over Sariale's indignant exclamation - as if she'd also caught herself, and was trying to regain control of the situation. "I can't imagine that he would be _that_ careless. I mean, even when they're being completely ridiculous about each other, they usually make a token effort to stay out of sight. They don't just - fling open doors!"

"I think he was just getting carried away," Sariale said, and blushed again, because he'd so evidently been caught in a… moment of passion….

_Oh, I've lost my mind,_ she thought, but she wasn't sure she cared.

"I think it's romantic," Iva said, sparing her from having to say it herself. "They so obviously love each other."

Sophie snorted. "Personally, I think if they actually _are_ carrying on so… indiscriminately…"

Sariale suddenly recalled Sophie's comment about encountering the king and queen in the library, and suspected the woman of spending a fair amount of time in there herself, looking up words like _indiscriminately._

"We'll find ourselves in a diplomatic tiff soon enough, if the next visiting officials go exploring and get the same unexpected eyeful _she_ did," Sophie finished.

"Ah, but then that means you do believe me," Sariale said triumphantly. She laughed as all the woman could do was sniff, shake her head and return to her sewing.

Iva crept up closer then, ducking shyly, but her eyes were twinkling. "So this whole story - it's true, isn't it? You really did see the king like that?"

Oh, had she ever. The mental image was bright and indelible. Sariale closed her eyes for a moment to appreciate it once more: the king - _Alistair_ - outlined in fiery sunset, with every inch of golden skin bared to her sight, and he stood there filled with such thrilling energy, such… purpose….

_And oh, that purpose,_ she thought, unable to help herself. Her whole body flushed with private pleasure, and then she leaned in close to Iva, wearing a conspiratorial smile.

"He even asked me my _name,_" she said.

"_Ooooh,_" Iva exclaimed in a long sigh of envy.

And when Miran rounded the corner at last in an I've-had-enough-of-this huff, the two girls simply grabbed each other's hands and made their escape, giggling all the way to safety.

...

The next day, Sariale was greeted in the hall by a guard on patrol, who handed her a small envelope. "Message for you," he said noncommittally.

She had a brief moment of nerves when she saw the seal, but she popped it and read the enclosed message - and then repeated it at least seven times over, lingering over the words. The script was surprisingly neat; the tone, charmingly casual. She smoothed her fingers over the paper, as if she could feel the trace of his fingertips there, and read it one more time.

_Sariale -_ _I must apologize again for my display yesterday. I hope I haven't traumatized you for life. Next time you come upstairs, I promise I'll be more presentable._

_Incidentally, do compliment the cook on her choice of cheeses, would you? The _bouchon de chévre_ was divine._

_Regards,_ _- A_ _(king, etc.)_

Sariale bit her lip to hold back a smile at his ridiculous little afterthought of a signature. She barely even heard Iva running toward her and calling for attention, distracted as she was, but eventually the words came clear: "Ari! I saw you get a message! Who from? What does it say?"

Sariale laughed to herself, folding up the paper away from Iva's eyes. "'Next time,'" she repeated to herself. "Oh, my."

"Come on, Ari. You're being evil. Tell me."

Sariale tucked the envelope into her bodice and turned to her friend at last.

"I think," she said, "we have a mission," and laughed heartily at Iva's bemused reaction to her closing words, as she steered her down the hallway to the kitchens, and perhaps, if they were lucky, beyond:

"I think it's time to go find ourselves some cheese."


End file.
